“Boom-m!” And—“Crash!”
That was the big mortar bomb. Darkness had gathered. The flames from the two guns redly illuminated the gateway littered with spoil—shone upon the bodies of the Mexican gunners who had fallen, rammers in hands; the explosions of the shells lighted the roofs and towers in the center of the city, almost a mile eastward. The distant cries of alarm echoed anew. Three shells were thrown from the twenty-four-pounder, five from the mortar.
“That will do,” General Worth bade.
An aide from General Scott raced in.
“General Worth! The general commanding sends his compliments, and the information that General Quitman is in possession of the Belen gateway. You are directed to entrench yourself here before the San Cosme gate, and await further orders in preparation for a final assault in the morning, if necessary.”
General Worth smiled.
“My compliments to General Scott. As you see, we have entered the city and have a clear road to the plaza. My instructions were to penetrate as far as the Alameda; but owing to the darkness we will establish ourselves where we are, and march on by daylight.”
The aide delayed a moment.
“General Quitman forced the Belen gate shortly after one o’clock, general,” he said. “But he has been held fast ever since, unable to advance by reason of batteries opposing him. My congratulations to you, sir.”
“He was simply to threaten the gate, I understood.”